


The Double Bubble Duke

by orphan_account



Category: 1776 (1972), Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Athlete Richard Henry Lee, Genius Thomas Jefferson, His Name is Thomas Jefferson and He Likes Gum, M/M, Richard is a Saint, Thomas Jefferson is a Lonely Snob, named after a song, they’re so good and wholesome and pure, we stan jefferlee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 09:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Thomas is closed off, and Richard decides to try to break through his walls.





	The Double Bubble Duke

 

In small-town Virginia, things often get uninteresting- especially when all of your friends are stereotypical jocks. Richard H. Lee was a dreamer, and not like his fellow football stars (the term "stars" being used loosely, as he and his friends were only in the eighth grade). The boys he hung out with only wished to join the NFL and deflower obnoxiously peppy teenage girls, whereas Richard had more bold aspirations.

 

He wanted to have an astounding political career, yes, but his current goal was to befriend the elusive Double Bubble Duke.

 

The Duke wasn't really a duke at all, just a wallflower who constantly got in trouble for always chewing gum in class. No one really knew much about him, which was probably due to the fact nobody had bothered to get to know him earlier in life.

 

All Richard Henry knew about him was that his name was Thomas Jefferson and he liked gum.

 

Now, by no means was Thomas shy, but he didn't tend to speak without someone first speaking to him. He would do well to have some friends, Richard thought, but his snapping back didn't do much to help his case. He had a way of belittling anyone with an IQ lower than 140 and often was annoyed by the so-called "still-wits" at his school. It was a public school, mind you, but the town was so small that the nearest private academy was a flabbergasting hour and forty-seven minutes away. The Duke constantly echoed this fact, along with his trademark: (what seemed to be) oceans of trivia that even struck the teachers dumb.

 

Richard only had three out of his eight classes with the boy: English, science, and debate. Thomas always sat in the front row of each one, even though he knew he'd definitely get in trouble for chewing gum.

 

Their science teacher was always praising him for getting such high marks on test scores. While the majority of the class was failing, Thomas had gotten nothing less than 100 on every quiz, test, and district exam he'd taken in the course.

 

Richard wished he could say the same as he stared down at the menacingly red "37" on his paper. He plainly sighed, tuning out the teacher a bit. It was just the same complaints that the class heard after every single test.

 

You had a 46% pass rate.

 

There was only two A's, a 91 and Thomas' 100.

 

It's like none of you are even trying.

 

But he was. He tried so hard to be smart, Richard did. It just didn't come as naturally as it did to Thomas or to Dabney Carr or James Madison.

 

He looked towards Thomas- sitting diagonally to his front-left- and sighed as he glanced over his paper. Of course, he even had enough time to doodle after he finished. God, why was Richard so stupid?

 

The bell rang, and everyone aside from Thomas and Richard- the only two who were paying attention rather than collecting their belongings- to swarm out of their classroom. The taller of the two hastily packed his things up, whereas Richard sighed and dawdled.

 

"Thomas, I have a question," Richard started, looking up at his classmate. His four-eyed counterpart made eye contact with him for what seemed like the very first time, and the judgmental amber orbs sitting behind those large, expensive glasses were enough to send chills down the shorter's spine. "How do you do it?"

 

"There's a lot of things that I do, Richie. You should learn to be more specific," he answered as he popped the bubblegum he had been chewing the whole class period, unbeknownst to their teacher.

 

"How are you so smart?"

 

"I developed a higher level brain than you in the womb. An advanced intellect simply comes to me without my tryin'. My parents took advantage of that and got me readin' before I could walk. Is that all?"

 

"Well, there's one more thing-"

 

Ironically, Thomas responded, "Spit it out."

 

"Can... can you tutor me?"

 

Thomas' face lit up. "You want to be tutored? By me?"

 

Really, Richard just wanted to be his friend since he always looked so lonely, but this was just a step in that process. Besides, his grades would benefit immensely with a mind like Thomas' helping him out. "My other friends don't realize the... academic requirements," he, attempting to tap into a more advanced vocabulary, started, "You need a certain GPA to play football, or any athletic activity, in high school."

 

"You're tryna sound smart," he replied after snorting. Thomas Jefferson had a much more typically southern accent, but there was something about it that made him sound different from everyone else at the school. It was as if everyone else was a simple chocolate chip cookie, but Thomas had cinnamon and walnuts infused. Controversial, yet pleasantly diverse. "I can respect that. But you don't need to. I'll cut back on big words, so to speak."

 

"Oh Lord, thank you. Half the time, I don't understand nothin' that comes out of your mouth."

 

"Lesson one, a double negative is equal to a positive. Think about what you just said."

 

"I don't understand nothi-"

 

"You're saying that you don't understand nothing, but that would mean that you understand everything. If there's nothing you don't understand, then you understand everything. Try to keep up," he explained, his tall, slim figure already standing beside the door.

 

"Uhh... I don't understand anything, then," he corrected. Thomas haphazardly grabbed Richard's wrist and started walking to their next class- debate- with a bounce in his step. "You seem happy."

 

"I am."

 

"Why?"

 

"Be-" he nervously chewed his bubblegum mid-word, "Because you're willing to learn. Education is society."

 

"Thomas, why are you lying?"

 

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked in a sheepish tone. He let go of Richard and slowed down, messing with his backpack straps and the small, springy curls that always fell in front of his perfectly clear-complexioned face. He started to chew louder, and faster; with more force.

 

"I'm not a total idiot, y'know. You're doing all the things you do when you say you left your homework at your grandparents' farmhouse or your powerpoint was saved onto your sister's account since she was using your computer just before you did it. Maybe the teachers can't pick up on it because you still talk super frickin' smoothly and have a good reputation, but I can. Actions speak louder than words."

 

Thomas was silent for a moment, calculating all the possible solutions to how he could get out of this conversation. He never really had friends growing up, and it seemed like his parents only cared about him when he brought home a pickleball trophy or managed to snag a TV interview for being such an academic prodigy, so he never really had a heart-to-heart conversation about why he was lying.

 

"Thomas, are you lying because you're embarrassed about why you're really happy?"

 

"That's wholly preposterous. I'm always chewing gum and always making sure my appearance is kept in a neat order and fashion."

 

"You know your nervous habits and you're going back to using smart talk to confuse me into dropping it. You're a really bad liar, huh?"

 

"Shut up, Richie," he snarled and clenched his fists to his sides. The Duke stomped into the debate room and slammed his backpack onto his usual seat. Richard slipped into the desk beside him.

 

"Is it because you don't wanna admit you like me?"

 

Thomas' face burned a dusty rose color. "What?!"

 

"No, no, no! Not that kind of like," he chuckled. "I mean like a friend. You don't wanna admit that you like a big, dumb jock as a friend."

 

"Apprentice."

 

"I thought the word was acquaintance...?"

 

"Not even that. I like you as my... student, so to speak. Nothing more, nothing less."

 

Richard bit his lip. "So... it's not because you're lonely?"

 

"I prefer the word independent. Asocial, if you don't want to use that."

 

"You didn't answer my question. You keep using your dumb big words as a way to steer clear of the stuff you don't wanna talk about. That's not healthy, y'know. To bottle up your feelings like that."

 

"Oh, Jehovah, you sound like Mrs. Warren." He began to imitate the school's counselor: "'You need to talk to people about your problems or they can't help you, sweetie.' 'Don't you ever wanna share all that junk you read with someone else, sweetie?' 'Sweetie, you need to make some friends or you're gonna have to start an emotional journal.' She's such a bother."

 

"You know she's only trying to help you, right? Like I am? Her literal job is helping us with inner stuff, and I just wanna be your friend."

 

"I'm okay, Richie, really. I don't want or need friends. No offense, but they just weigh you down."

 

"That's not true, Thomas!"

 

"Whatever," he snapped as he popped another bubble, tightly hugging his chest and pretending to cross his arms. The two sat in silence for a bit, but then Richard started to talk again.

 

"Uh, can I come over to your house after school? I need help with test corrections in science."

 

"Sure," he sighed, continuing to chew his gum.

 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

 

"Okay, number 11, which two factors are used to determine a star's absolute brightness?" Thomas asked as he twirled a pink glitter pen into his kinked hair.

 

"Uh, I don't know," Richard sighed. "Hey, can we do something else?"

 

Thomas stretched out on his floor. "Mmm... Like what?"

 

"I dunno... like... talking about why you don't wanna talk to people about your feelings."

 

"Oh my Jehovah, are we still on this?"

 

"Yes! It's important!"

 

"Why do you even care?"

 

"Because I care about you, and I wanna be your friend!"

 

"I don't want to open up to people for them to just leave me alone, okay? Are you happy now?"

 

"Tommy..."

 

"Please, don't call me that."

 

"I won't leave you alone, Tommy," he cooed and snuggled up to the taller boy on his softly carpeted floor. Thomas' cheeks flushed pink and he continued to anxiously chew his gum as Richard rambled on, "Everyone thinks you're an asshole, but you're just in a constant fight-or-flight mode, huh, Tommy? I saw past that. I could tell that deep down, you just wanted a friend. And you do! You may not think that you do, but trust me, you definitely do. Well, I'll be your friend."

 

"Why the hell are you like this-?"

 

"One: watch your profanity, and two: I'm like this because I just care a lot and have a lot of feelings and stuff."

 

"I..."

 

"Now, come on! Let's do something else. Corrections aren't due until Friday, I could come back tomorrow," Richard offered, and he sat up, pulling Thomas up with him by his delicate hands. Not that he was surprised or anything; the most athletic Thomas got was competitive racquet sports. He played tennis, ping pong, and pickleball competitively, Richard knew, but he didn't really do much activity otherwise, aside from the occasional golfing, of course.

 

"I'd like that," he murmured. Staring at him with glistening eyes, Richard giggled. "What?"

 

"You're really adorable when you put your guard down, huh? It makes me feel gooey inside."

 

"Oh," Thomas flushed a more deep crimson, "Thank you."

 

"So... What should we do?"

 

"Wanna watch a movie or something? We could marathon the Pitch Perfect trilogy. I mean- if you want. I don't know if you're into that. Uh, would your parents care if you stayed for dinner?"

 

"I can call them, and my little sister was obsessed with the first Pitch Perfect when it came out. I wouldn't guess that you were into that kind of stuff. Isn't it a little, I dunno, gay?"

 

"I-I mean..."

 

"Sorry! Fuck, dude. I didn't- I didn't know."

 

"Profanity," he huffed, a slight charm to the word, "And I guess there's no point in tryna lie now... so, like, just don't tell anyone at school, okay? I don't wanna have to deal with that on top of all of the other shit."

 

"It's all good, bro! I'm all for the LGBT peeps. Its 2019, after all."

 

Thomas chuckled, "Thanks. I haven't really... come out yet. My two older sisters know, and you know, James Madison and Dabney Carr know, but that's really it."

 

"If it makes you feel better, I'm sorta in the closet, too. There are a couple of boys at school that I feel for, I guess? You're lucky that you have a word for your sexuality."

 

"Who are they? The boys you 'feel for,' I mean."

 

The football player's face burned the same color as Thomas' gel pen. "I dunno, they kinda change from day to day-"

 

He really hoped Thomas couldn't use that big brain of his in social situations. He wouldn't be able to deal with the embarrassment if he figured out who his real crush was.

 

"Huh."

 

Shit.

 

"Yeah, it's kinda weird. That's why it's so confusing, I guess..." he trailed off. "Anyways, I'm gonna go call my parents. You can get your TV set up."

 

Thomas nodded, then crawled over to his loveseat as Richard scurried out into the hall. Thomas' bedroom was massive: he had room for a king-sized bed, a TV set complete with several gaming consoles, a desk with three monitors, a reading nook with three bookshelves and two bean bags- not to mention he had a walk-in closet and his own en suite. His near-billionaire parents had a team of architects design their estate to fit their family's demands, and that included a large personal space for Thomas to do his gay, nerdy,Thomasy things.

 

He pulled himself up onto the heavily cushioned couch and put on Pitch Perfect just as Richard came back in. Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if the football player had read his mind and was already dimming the lights and closing the blinds. The taller wrapped a blanket around himself and sub-consciously snuggled up next to his shorter friend.

 

They were calm and quiet for a while, but Thomas' insistent chewing quickly became more and more of a bother to Richard. Not just the noise, but the feeling of his strong jaw making constant motions against his arm was irritating. "Could you spit that out?" he asked.

 

"Why?"

 

"It's bothering me."

 

Thomas frowned. "I'll chew quieter."

 

"Why can't you spit it out?"

 

"I don't want to."

 

"How long have you been chewing it for?"

 

"2 months, 16 days, 10 hours, and 43 minutes."

 

"How are you not starving?"

 

"I take it out- stick it to the back of my hand while I eat. I don't eat much anyway, I mostly just drink smoothies and juice and stuff."

 

"That's so weird. No offense."

 

"None taken. I just gain weight easily."

 

Richard nodded lightly. "But... uh, can you spit out your gum, please?"

 

"No!"

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because... I don't feel like it."

 

"Thomas."

 

"I always need something to chew on, mkay? Shut up about it."

 

The jock smiled. Thomas opened up quickly, and he guessed that was because he didn't have many people to open up to. He had moved farther from Richard and was crossing his arms over his knees at this point- very obviously defensive. He always appeared prissy and above-it-all, but he didn't seem to have a good handle on his emotions.

 

"How about we get some popcorn?"

 

"Oh, no way. When I start eating that stuff, I'm never gonna stop."

 

"I don't mind. You have the body of a twig."

 

"Gee, thanks."

 

"You're like one of those trees from the Lorax. They're tall and skinny and have really soft, puffy hair."

 

"I get it. You can stop now."

 

"Let's get back to the movie, then?"

 

Thomas nodded slowly, getting used to the lack of chewing gum in his mouth. "I-I'd like that."


End file.
